


Worship

by BreadedSinner



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Scars, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreadedSinner/pseuds/BreadedSinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A filled prompt from the kink meme. Hawke returns home from the events of "Legacy", worn out and bruised. Sebastian awaits her, ready to help with the wear and tear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was as follows:
> 
> "Sebastian/f!Hawke, worship of f!Hawke's vagina. Is there a female equivalent of cock worship? I want. No penetration."
> 
> OP, if you're out there...you're definitely not me, right? Because f!Hawke/Sebastian and lady oral are both things I crave, but can never find enough of. Now, I've never written smut before, I was reluctant, but it was too good an idea to leave to rot. And well, no one else was writing it, so...here we are.
> 
> Honestly, considering the language I used, this just barely crosses the threshold of M to E rating. But it's about cunnilingus, so I won't press it. I also apologize if there's too much buildup for the usual smut-loving crowd, but considering it's about pleasing a woman, I think it's appropriate.
> 
> So here we go, first ever attempt at a romantic, body-positive smut piece. Try not to judge me too harshly.

 

“You were always his little soldiers.”

 

Bethany uttered her final reassuring words and mustered the warmest smile her tired, soiled face would allow. It had been quite the family outing; dwarf assassins, Grey Wardens, and a decrepit Tevinter magister-turned-darkspawn to top it all off. Her fur trimmings were matted with mud, dress torn, and hair oily and ragged. In the deepest pit of her gut, she actually missed the oppressive—yet tidy—chambers of the Circle tower.

Yet for every tear and patch of dirt she got, her older sister had a bruise and a cut. Her once sleek black armor had become dented and tarnished, like a suit of charcoal. She removed her helm and tossed it on her desk, revealing a mostly well protected and clean face. But it was marked by stress and fatigue, pressing against once full cheeks, dragging down the bags of her eyes. Her muddy brown hair was thinned and frizzled, as if held against hot irons. From her lips came a deep, rattling sigh, like she was tasting clean air for the first time.

The little Hawke knew how much her sister had gone through; not just in this adventure, but everything. Judith would always throw herself in harm’s way to keep her safe. Even when Bethany went to the Tower, she knew her sister did everything she could. She was getting involved in politics in the hopes she could make things easier for her sibling, and it did not take long for Bethany to see the Templars went softer on her because she was the Champion’s sister. It was not the Anders brand of solution—her protection did little for other mages—but Maker bless her for trying. And with their mother gone, it was clear Judith did not think much of her own efforts. Every attempt to make this city a little better withered and died before it could take flight, and the failures fell upon her shoulders, and burdened them, strong as they were.

Bethany bit her lip as she began to teeter towards the door. Orana, Judith’s elven housekeeper, flew down the stairs to unhinge her armor off her body, piece by piece. She wanted to say more, she wanted to stay and ease her sister’s mind. But night was falling onto the tips of Hightown, and if the Circle Mage was not back by the time the moon hung over the Chantry, the Templars would have to search for her and escort her; highly embarrassing for an Enchanter. A wistful “Goodbye, sister,” dropped from her mouth as she delicately shut the manor door behind her.

The mage loosened her reluctant grip on the doorknob and stepped backward. With a second step, she felt a foreign surface bump against her shoulder blades. The unexpected sensation caused her to leap in her boots. She flung herself around and was shocked all the more at what she found. A man towered above her, clad in white armor, framed with gilded lining, all with an immaculate polish that banished the incoming night around him. He had a slender face with smoothed out curves, sculpted of swarthy, clean shaven skin, with a distinctively crooked nose and bright blue eyes that cut through the evening mist.

“Oh! Please excuse me, serah,” he uttered in a rich, rumbling brogue.

“I…” Bethany stood with a blank face. The glint of his eyes wiped her mind clean.

“Is… Hawke back from her venture? I’d like to speak with her.”

“She, um… she’s uh…” the mage indicated her message more clearly through fingers pointed at the door than actual words.

“Wonderful. Thank you. If you… don’t mind…” he said with a confused slant of politeness as he gently worked his way around the dumbfounded mage and into the Hawke estate.

The door shut behind Bethany, and she slowly stepped away, only able to mumble a confounded, “Sister, you lucky bitch! When were you going to tell me...” as she trod off. As she made her journey’s end and climbed the Tower stairs, a single thought crashed in her head, making her shout out loud, “Wait a moment! Wasn’t she undressing?”

The man in white armor stepped out of the oncoming night and into the warm glow of the Hawke estate. Carefully prepared words gathered in his throat as he passed through the vestibule, but when his eyes found only the family mabari in the foyer, curled up asleep by the fireplace, all he let out was a sigh.

“Hawke?” he asked the near empty room. His soft voice tumbled up the stairs and dissipated on the second floor. He thought to step back out, to leave as quickly as he came, wait until morning, but the young lady at the door certainly… _implied_ she had returned. He walked further in and found a black helm sitting on her desk; the same one she had donned when he last saw her. The time passed since she departed for the Vinmark Mountains had blurred his mind’s vision of her, and he wished to repair it, to retouch the details smudged by her absence.

He ventured up the stairs and called her name once more. As he approached the top step, a soft, “Is someone there?” reached him. The very sound of it, her calming and silvery tone, caused his skin to ripple. Ears perked, he turned to Hawke’s bedroom door, only half open, and lightly sprinted to it, careful to contain his excitement.

“… Judith?” he said as he reared his head through the crack of the door. He was answered by the subtle thump of a doublet tossed against the floor. He studied it for a moment before cocking his head upward, finding Hawke sitting across from the discarded garment. She was slumped on a wooden stool, surrounded by the pieces of her dismantled armor and most of her underclothes. All that was left on her were black linen leggings and dusted wraps that bound her breasts. The young man veered his head further up and to her side and found Orana with an icy glare that implied she had been watching him stare at her employer the whole time. When their eyes met, she shrieked.

“Out!” she cried, head spinning about the room, looking for some object of minimal importance to toss at the intruder. “Out, get out! Master is undressing!”

“Orana,” Hawke breathed, either too calm or too tired to raise her voice. “It’s all right, it’s only Sebastian… and please, _please_ stop calling me ‘master’.”

“Oh,” the elf girl squeaked, her arms clasped together, “forgive me, master.”

Hawke sighed and ran one calloused hand over her brow, brushing dirty strands of hair from off her face. “It’s fine. That will be all for tonight. You’re dismissed.”

With a humble nod, the elf girl floated from behind Hawke, around Sebastian, and out the door. With her gone, Hawke’s near bare frame—her broad shoulders, her hardened torso, molded from countless battles—became more obvious, and Sebastian became more aware that he was a few steps away, staring at her. As she reared her head upwards, umber eyes meeting his gaze, blood rushed to the ends of his cheeks. “Ah, Hawke, I-I’m so sorry!” he blurted out, knowing his apology was several moments too late. He held out one hand and shielded his face with the back of his palm. “I had no idea that you were… I had only thought, I shouldn’t have…”

A grin swerved into Hawke’s face, and she let out a mild chuckle. “Sebastian, please,” she said as she stood up and approached him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I said you could visit whenever you wanted, I gave you permission… not that lack of it ever stopped the others from coming in and rummaging through my belongings. And… it’s not as though you haven’t seen more of women. This can’t be all that surprising to you. There's nothing here you haven't seen already.”

The slits between Sebastian’s fingers opened, allowing him to see her again, like white veils were lifted in front of her. Her words were true, for the most part, and he knew it. The quick realization forced in more blood to course throughout his face. Memories of faceless, nameless lovers flashed in his mind, making his display of virginal shame seem ridiculous. Before Hawke, before Kirkwall, before the Chantry, the womanly form was Sebastian’s domain. Many a fair and voluptuous frame had he explored and delved into. He returned his hand to his side, so there was only Hawke before him, no notions of shame or pageantry between them.

Indeed, the Lady Hawke had a similar blueprint to any given paramour he had in his wild days. Similar widened hips, a gentle curve leading to her stomach, all supported by long legs. But there was something else. Maybe it was the width of her waist with a core like a stone tablet, against memories of plump and supple curves. Perhaps it was the earthen tones of her skin, against rosy, almost glowing flesh. Or maybe it was simply that she was the first woman Sebastian had gotten so close to, whose name he ever bothered to learn. But the memories of those faceless forms, those bodies, were of a different structure than hers, somehow.  

“Forgive me,” he uttered with shame, “I am not proud of the way I’ve treated… women, in my past. I want things between us to be different.”

“I expect they already are,” she mused as she slipped her arms over his shoulder plates. Sebastian slumped a bit against the weight of them, and he felt the throbbing aches absorbed in her muscles. Their eyes were parallel to each other, like the stretch of blue heaven against the horizon of earth, and she gave a serene smile to relieve his shaken nerves. Her fingers wriggled their way through his auburn locks. “Is something the matter, dear? Are you… still having second thoughts about us?”

“No,” he said, surprising Hawke with a stern tone, his eyes glazed with sincerity. “No more doubts. We're going to finish what needs to be done in Kirkwall, then we're going to retake Starkhaven. And when that is done...  I am going to personally carry you to the palace and treat you like none has before. Give you everything you deserve.”

Hawke chuckled and lowered her head, her blushing face leaning against Sebastian's alabaster breastplate. She gave him a playful shove, knowing she was almost naked, but inside that shining armor of his was a lithe body she could easily lift. “Sounds good, but I think it's more likely that _I'll_ be the one carrying _you_.”

The exiled prince returned the light laugh, a blissful smile smeared onto his bronze face. “You are far stronger than I, love, I have no illusions about that.”

“Not to worry. You make up for it with dexterity.”

Hawke continued to snort at the situation, her head shaking, face flushed. He brought his hands to her sullied cheeks and framed her face with his white fingers. “I missed you, Judith.”

“You're sweet,” she responded softly, holding his wrist and leaning against one of his palms, letting it cradle her weary head. “But I wasn't gone for that long.”

“It felt long to me. I... would have preferred to accompany you.”

“I'm sorry, dear, I would have liked that, too. It's just... the Carta was involved, so I thought to bring Varric. I can't even recall why I brought Anders, but I regret it. And those dwarves were after my sister, so she was safer with me until we discovered the reason... She left just as you entered. Did you see her?”

“Ah, that dark haired young lady. Forgive my saying, but I don't see much family resemblance.”

 “Heh, no, I suppose not,” she laughed as she pointed to her angular, beak-like nose. “She has the Amell nose, all the features of a noblewoman. I'm... well, a Hawke, through and through.”

“It's a lovely nose,” he said as he gingerly bumped the tip of his nose with hers.

The skin on Hawke’s nose crinkled as she giggled. “And here I was worried she might steal you from me.”

“Of course not. It's odd, really. I had become so accustomed to the reflective quiet of the Chantry. Before...”

“Before I came along and ruined everything.”

“Hawke, you came into my life when I was in great need. When I was torn between two worlds, you were steadfast in your resolve. If that is not a sign from the Maker himself, I don't know what is. So believe me when I say I miss being around you. I have never been with someone in the same sense as I am with you, but now I don't see how I could go without it.”

“Without love?”

“Yes.”

Hawke was still amused by the glow of thrill in Sebastian's face, the constant expanding of his smile, the brightening shine of his eyes that studied her every move. The only one to ever be as excited about her returning home was her dog. She grabbed both his hands and guided them across her hardened waistline. “Very well then, you've convinced me. I... still can't seem to convince the others, though. Sometimes I wonder if... my hints are lost on them or they simply don't care to know about us.”

“That is on me, I'm afraid. I've not done very well to salvage my relationship with your team. I know Varric enjoys regaling tales of your heroism, and I don't think he has a place for me in those stories.”

“Well, only so much of his stories are factual, anyway, so... rest assured, Sebastian, you ARE a character in my story, whether Varric—Andraste bless him—acknowledges it or not.”

“Am I... a recurring character?” Sebastian purred, a sly smirk on his face.

“Better,” Hawke answered in an absurdly breathy tone, doing her best impersonation of a temptress, “supporting cast.” The end of her sentence just escaped her lips as the prince pushed them down with his own. His mouth made a swift sweep of hers, and reluctantly departed, so he could confirm her dazed grin. “Well then! Keep that up and I might just promote you to leading man.”

“That sounds promising, but what do I need to do to become a love interest?”

Hawke covered her blushing face with both hands. “That's quite the step, I don't know how many strings I can pull. You sure you're up for... ow!”

“What? What's wrong, dear?”

“Ah...” Hawke backed away and fell to her bedside, reaching for a spot on her back. “I got a bad burn in my fight with Corypheus. Went right through my armor.”

“... Beg pardon?”

“Long story. Orana put some ointment on it but it's... still sore.”

Sebastian walked around and positioned himself behind Hawke on the bed. He gasped upon the discovery of a searing gash, crawling from out of her binding wraps. The glazed pinkish hue suggest some treatment had been applied, but it was still fresh. “Oh, Hawke, you're badly wounded!”

“I'll be fine,” the Champion said as she stretched her tenderized limbs. “It's not the first time I've been injured like that.”

The prince gazed upon the Champion and could see she spoke the truth. Her back alone told stories of shadowy Darkspawn, haywire magic, brutish Qunari, unseen traps, and wily dragons. A suit of armor—which she was seldom seen without—protected her enough that one might not notice anything from a distance. But every now and then, something burned through the metal, or cracked it open, or wriggled its way between opened slits. Not to mention even the best armor could only do so much against magic, and while Hawke seemed to have a natural resistance to it, she was no dwarf. Sebastian gazed upon her, as close to vulnerable as she would allow herself to be; armor and weapon tossed to the side, and with every cut and bruise exposed. Some were faded stripes of pinked flesh around her hardened skin, others were dents against her tightened muscles, as if someone tried to chisel at a statue. At least one of those, he figured, must have come from protecting him.

“Oh, Judith,” he sighed with ache in his throat, scuttling across the bed to sit next to her. “You push yourself too hard.”

“At times, I don't believe it's enough,” she said with her head ducked down, staring at her gnarled hands. “For all I've done, for all I've tried to do... things only seem to get worse. I try to protect Kirkwall, become it's Champion, and now it's more chaotic than ever. I try to provide for my family, and now they're all but gone.”

“You cannot blame yourself for the way others react to the good you've done. I know it's in your nature to assume responsibility for everything, but you are only one person, and it would be cruel for you to be accounted for everything.”

“I know you're right. I don't like it, but...”

“All you can do is... have faith things will turn out right, and weather the storm.”

“I shall... endure. Or at least try to.”

“For what it's worth, you are one of the best things to happen to me. I regret a lot of things I've done, but not being with you.”

Judith reared her head back to look upon Sebastian's face. It was as though her head were plunged in darkness, but pulled back into forgiving light. “I feel the same way, Sebastian. You are a light in a very dark world.”

Her flagging body drifted into his arms. The prince crossed his hands over her back, and took his gloves off when his fingers met, so she could feel the heat of his embrace. “If there is anything I can do to help ease your burdens, whatever it is, I'll do it.”

She laughed playfully as she rubbed against his neck, lips rubbing together, planning her next move. “You could say that a second time, for starters.”

“Oh?” he said with a raised brow. He pulled the deepest roll of his voice from the bottom of his throat and weaved it through his already thick brogue. “You mean... _ayse yurrr buhrrrdahns_?”

“Exactly.” The warm words that unfurled from his mouth seemed to invigorate Hawke's tattered bones as she launched herself at his mouth. She rotated her hips as she repositioned herself on the bed, with one knee bent on the mattress. She grabbed Sebastian's hands and brought them to each side of her waist, allowing him to feel the gentle shift of her movement. She wasn't going to let a little burn get in her way this time. She needed this too badly.

As the Champion advanced on him, the weight of her body compressed onto his, memories of similar actions he had once performed leaked into his mind again. The same motions and sounds echoed, yet they rung cold and distant. As he fit the curves of Judith's hips into the cups of his palms, he came to understand the difference between her body and those of the women of his debauchery-filled days, the intricate differences in the design absorbed through his hands.    

Those bodies housed in his past were of country estates, nestled in sweet, forgiving lands. They were decorated with care, not a single frill out of place or tarnish on the furnishing. Theirs were places to anticipate a visit to, places to forget all one’s troubles, if only for a brief while. Hawke’s body was a temple, built upon a foundation of work. Her walls were dented and scratched, but weathered the worst of conditions, and served as a testament to her perseverance. Hers was a place of worship, a place that demanded proper tribute.

So if he was going to properly comfort her, he would have to do it right. While her movements were fast and hungry, her legs parted as she lunged on him, a shortcut presented to him, Sebastian maintained focus. He kept his hands on her waist, a slow course of action developing in his mind. He could not simply donate himself thoughtlessly on her doorstep; he would have to make the pilgrimage.

His agile fingers traced along the vast tower of her waistline, her skin tingled with each careful brush. They motioned back and forth, from the ends of her toned thighs up to the top of her waist, just beneath her breasts. Hawke's knees bridged over Sebastian's waist, her hands clutched against the crimson sheets beneath them, her ass wiggling in the air as if a tail were attached. Her mouth bounced on his cushioned lips, every trip back to him became more fervent and rapid. Before she made another attack, he changed course, and locked his mouth against the crease between her neck and shoulder, aiming for a faint scratch he found embedded in her skin.

“Aww,” Hawke let out a mix of sigh and moan, as if she could not decide if his kiss was sweet or arousing. “Trying to kiss it and make it better?”

“Is it working?”

“I certainly don't feel pain anymore...” she growled. Hawke continued her siege on the prince, and she kept pushing until she had him pinned against the bedpost. He had one hand on her back, the other her thigh, but her presence weighed down on him; he was powerless to stop her. But it did not deter him from his duty; he continued to traverse her frame, to skirt along her stronghold until the sanctuary was ready to accept his offering.

She flung her hands behind her back and fidgeted with her binding wraps while her lips smacked against his cheeks and neck. After another stroke, her body writhing against his contact, the prince made the next step. His hands joined hers and their combined force tore through the wraps. A thunderous groan escaped his mouth, overwhelmed by the combined power of Hawke's tongue against his skin and her breasts thrust upon him. Her nubs hardened as they swung against his chest plate. Hawke busied her hands again, this time with the unbuckling of belts and the unstrapping of plates, chucking them across the room until the prince was left in only his pants and hood. This endeavor was too crucial to allow possible obstructions.

He reeled his hands back in, gripped each of Hawke’s breasts, and gave them a gentle squeeze, the soft skin of her mounds—perhaps the only parts of her sheltered from scarring battle—oozing from the spaces between his fingers. The gentle flick of his thumbs against her breasts caused Hawke to giggle, and she climbed up along the bed so they dangled in his face. He slid his hands against her back and pushed her down with care so his mouth could get a full grasp. His lips encircled her breast and closed in, puckered around the aureola until they met over her nipple, a wet smack against the tip. Her body shuddered as he went from one breast to the other. He did his best to give even attention, switching back and forth, as while one was caressed by his lips, the other was embraced by the clenching of his fingertips.  

When she had enough, Hawke hoisted herself from off his head and sat herself upright, her hips gyrating over his waist, hands on his stomach, grasping at his jacket, trying to contain the desire bubbling within her. Sebastian's movements slowed so he could better observe the Champion's body as it danced in front of him. Everything from her feathery mess of hair, fluttering over her dark eyes, to her slowly swaying breasts—still dewy with his affections—down to her lean abdomen. All of it entranced him.

“You are so beautiful,” he drawled, adoration dripping in his words.

“Coming from someone with your experience, that must really be something,” she jabbed as she turned her head away to laugh, flushed cheeks hidden under strands of hair.

“Come now, I don't mean it like that. A woman like you... you would have been too much for me in my wild days.”

Hawke grinned, grinding against his pelvis with added vigor. “Damn right I would have been.”

“But I can appreciate you now. I love you.”

“You're such a softie,” she chuckled, “though you could stand to say it more often.”

“I can do that. But for now, how about I show you?”

“Oh? What do you intend to do?”

For a moment, Sebastian's thought to shed the rest of his clothes and be with her in the closest sense, to join with her and let the Maker decide if their rash actions undermined their good deeds. But his mind returned to her finely tempered form; her pillars were shivering, but still intact. Tonight was about her. “I want to treat you the way you deserve.”

With a determined gaze, he set himself up, grabbed Hawke by her waist and propped it over his lap. She watched him paint his fingers with the inside of his mouth, and before he could redirect them, she grabbed that same hand and gave them a quick suckling kiss.

Her crotch hovered above his knee, anticipating his next move. While one hand fastened onto her hip to keep her steady, he dipped the other underneath her leggings. The crosshatch of laces were slowly pulled apart as more of his hand burrowed further down. His fingers deftly tread through her courtyard of fuzz and over the mound of flesh. His index and middle fingers dipped downward and traversed the outer circle, gently massaging the front lips.

“Sebastian...” she huffed out a deep, heavy breath, her efforts to remain firm began to falter. She hooked one sinewy arm around the back of his neck and smothered the side of his face with kisses, as if to help anchor her while he plunged further in.

With precision, his fingertips slipped from the valley of skin, into the chambers of pink warmth. Hawke's breath trembled upon contact, the dents of his fingers seeping into her. He positioned each finger on a lip and began rubbing against them, as if testing the waters of her labia. He looked down, over her wavering breasts and across her stomach, making sure his pacing was just so. Excited ripples traveled up her abdomen, and her frame shuddered in his grasp. He smiled knowing he was on the right track. He pushed more vigor from out of the tips and caressed her outer lips, causing a gentle friction that coursed through Hawke's body like a hot streak of lightning.

With his thumb hanging by the hood of her mound, the prince’s fingers delved deeper. They pushed themselves inward, digging into her center, but only grazing against the innermost chamber, tips only gently brushing against the doors.  The four fingers stroked back and forth, slipping through her folds.

Hawke shivered and sighed as her walls began closing in on Sebastian's hand, her legs contorting against his knees. He kissed the side of her neck, moved his second hand up her torso to squeeze her breast. Within the sanctum, he elevated his other fingers, transitioning to her balcony. She wriggled in his palms, toned thighs shivering as his fingers shifted and dug into her. They tripped over the fleshy nub that hung inside her, and she squirmed against his body with a yelp.

“Wait,” she sighed. The prince immediately ceased his exploration and withdrew  his hand from her grips. Confused, he watched her lift herself from his lap and stand up. She gave him only a curling smile as she pulled away her laces, pulled down her leggings, and with one leg, flung them at Sebastian's head. He tore them from off his face like wrapping on a present, and found her returning to the edge of the bed. He smirked as he watched her adjust her composure in her seat, knees apart, reinforcing her defenses, preparing herself for his next advance.

Sebastian fell to his knees as Hawke's chamber doors reopened for him, ready to grant him absolution, but he was not ready to enter just yet. He ran his hands along her legs, from her knees to the beginning of her hips. He felt the bumps of her flesh rise in the tiny trenches of his fingers. He reared his head inward, approaching the entrance with kisses on her inner thighs, the surprise causing her to expel tiny squeals.

Hawke watched as her prince grappled onto her knees, readying himself for the dive. He gave her another sly grin, licking his lips. She laughed it off, but it was overpowered at the heated sensation of his tongue breaching her outer hull. She gave out a tiny grunt, and it urged him to proceed. He licked the outermost flaps of skin again and again, until her lips began to swell. 

Hawke brought him in closer by wrapping her legs around him, hooking her ankles together against his back. The prince repositioned his hands onto the ends of her thighs as he lapped at her bulbous warmth. With every lick, he broadened his tongue, slathering more of her flesh, until he unfurled powerful strokes that swept against the outer sanctum and skimmed along the inside. He hoisted her legs up so he could expand his tongue's journey, beginning at the very ends of her legs, between her cheeks, and going all the way to the top of her clitoris in a single stroke.

She cranked her neck back and closed her eyes, hanging by threads of willpower, not yet willing to waver for him. He licked and licked, traveling deeper each time. He began knocking his head back and forth, his nodding motion becoming more of a thrusting one. Slowly he curled the folds of his tongue and drilled it through her walls and deep within her, but she answered with the same heavy breaths and squirms, and that would not do.

He resumed broader laps of the outer rim until he ended one with a bend of the tongue, smacking his lips against hers and ending it with a deep kiss against the top of her vulva. The pounce of his mouth—the billowy pressure of his full lips against her dripping folds—cracked at her fortitude, sending shivers in her bones, turning her heavy sighs into one long quivering moan.

“Oh, Sebastian... please...”

“So that's what you like, is it?” he responded with great satisfaction. Not to get too confident, he went right back to it, making long sweeps of her walls, ending each one with his mouth closing in on the top of her folds. His plush lips resounded with the click against her labia, the natural waters coming from them both swirling together. Hawke's arms, strong as they were, wobbled as the heat from his kisses coursed throughout her body, shattering her support. With all the will she could muster, she grabbed the back of Sebastian's head and pushed it further inward. Unknowingly, she pushed in the tip of his protruding nose, and the poking little intrusion caused her to whip her hair back and yelp.

 Hearing this new sound from her bell tower, he decided to follow a new wave of attack. He pushed in as much of his face as he could between her thighs and nestled the tip of his nose in her warm, pink layers, his crooked bridge resting upon her clit. Hawke's foundation crumbled and her back fell onto the mattress, squirming with moans and giggles. She reached for his hair again as his face bobbed within her folds. He lifted her legs up, her feet in the air, and his nose dove into her, lips pressing against to any bits of skin they could latch onto.

From across her torso, Hawke could see his brow, his brilliant eyes in a trance by the motions, and every shiver her own body made against his movements. She watched him tunnel into her inner lips with his face, and the hot pulse surged throughout her body. As it gripped her, tore down her foundations, her neck bent back, her teeth clenched. Her back arced, hands clawed at the sheets in a fruitless effort to contain herself.

When Sebastian made a quick resurface for air, his next lunge already planned in his mind, Hawke pulled herself away. She recollected herself with remnants of willpower, rolled over the bed, and erected herself on hands and knees. She dipped her tailbone in front of her prince, so he could see her throbbing doors hanging between her bent legs. The two lovers laughed as she waved her ass in front of him, but the sermon was not yet complete.

Without a word needed, he lifted one leg and made a genuflecting position. His hands smoothed over her thighs and massaged the ends of her cheeks, easing them as he parted them open, so he would have the clearest path. He took a swift breath before submerging again. Hawke buried her face in the sheets at the electric tingle of his tongue against the bottom of her slit. His tongue slithered to the other end of her labia, as close to her clit as it could reach, soaking in her mist. He slipped through her shuttering walls, encompassing her pelvis until it reached the crack under her tailbone. He repeated, burying his face within her sweltering warmth. Her moans were stretched and winding. He could feel the skin of her legs rippling as her inner sanctum began to collapse. Her glands dripped, lips squeezing against the prince's tongue, as if trying to hold it hostage. Still, it squirmed throughout her wet crevices, escaped her pink clenches to graze along the surrounding court of hairs, only to venture back again to the innermost chamber.

Hawke lifted her head, only to find her limbs in shambles. Her body swayed, clutched by the heated shivers. Her shoulders rotated, head knocked side to side, breasts swung in the air as rapture bloomed inside her. “Oh Maker,” she whimpered between bounces, “I… I...”

“I love you,” he murmured in a quick breath before the last plunge. 

For the final advance, before her grace could be granted upon him, Sebastian once again unsheathed his main hand and wielded it for aid. As his tongue circumnavigated between her cheeks, he place his thumb at the bottom of her labia, the other four tented over to the top. Both ends of his hand hung from each side of her doorway, and swung through her pink halls. They traversed through her lips until they met at the center, then parted ways and fled to their starting positions before going through her vulva again. For a better grip, he nudged her body further across the bed, sat himself on the edge, and cocked his head above her ass, like the sun overlooking a valley of hills. Her pillars trembled as his tongue and fingers dug further in, fixing themselves into the deepest ends of her tunnels. Once inside, he locked them together, the ridges of his fingers and the bumps of his tongue melded with the depths of her sanctuary.

With a single, grinding wail, Hawke's arms, legs, and lips quivered in harmony. Her entrenched walls loosed their fleshy grip on Sebastian, releasing him with translucent honey, the aches and tensions bound up inside the Champion came oozing out, flowing from her lax chamber doors. The prince sighed in relief as Hawke sprawled out against her bed, her limbs melting into the sheets, every drop of stress in her body squeezed out. A gentle pat on the space of the bed next to her was his sign of approval, that his tribute had appeased her.

With a grin, he hopped onto the bed, his back propped with pillows. She rolled half her body on top of him, granting him peace with gentle kisses on his cheek. “I love you, Sebastian Vael,” she cooed, “I love you so much.”

“And I love you... Judith Vael.”

Hawke's body had gone rubbery, but with a spark of energy in her reserves, she let out a laugh. “We'll discuss name changes another time. For now... must you return to the Chantry right away? Can't you stay with me?”

“I haven't broken the news to Elthina and the sisters just yet,” he uttered with contemplation, yet when he looked upon Hawke's blissful face, he smiled and nestled himself further in the pillows. “But this could provide a... subtle hint to start.”

“That and you need to cook me breakfast when I wake.”

He snickered, “I can do that,” and cradled her frame in his lean arms. She hooked her arm across his chest, as if it would be enough to reign him in, keep him from escaping. Which it was. He stroked her earthy hair as she burrowed her head against his chest, kissed the top of her skull as she drifted to a well-deserved rest.              

 


End file.
